Waves

In the July examinations, Tan Yang took the lead in her class, earning admission to Jingye Middle School and becoming a bona fide student under Zhao Ling's tutelage.

Among more than a thousand students, she ranked around thirtieth—diligence and talent both at play. Tan Yang was overjoyed, rushing to hang up the phone and tell Bi Qingtang. He too was happy, but what truly delighted him wasn’t her passing, but the completion of the exams.

Early the next morning, Tan Yang boarded the car waiting at the mouth of the alley. “Little sister, I dreamt of you the night before last—saw you fail your exam, and you ran to me, bursting into tears.” Bi Qingtang spoke as he instinctively straightened his shirt buttons, turning to Tan Yang with a smile. It seemed the heart of the dream lay not in the exam itself but in its romantic undertones—he was secretly pleased. Tan Yang tilted her head shyly, lowering it, uncertain if she grasped the deeper meaning, answering softly, “Big brother, dreams always go the opposite way.” Unfazed, Bi Qingtang laughed, “That’s right, there’s always something that turns out different.”

He asked how she wished to celebrate. Tan Yang counted on her fingers, “Big brother, I want this, big brother, I want that.” Bi Qingtang nodded in agreement, offering suggestions and joining the fun. Setting aside serious matters, he spent the day frolicking with Tan Yang. As evening fell, it began to rain. Rain in Shanghai was never heavy; the cloud drifting across East China, when over Suzhou or Hangzhou or Yangzhou, came down as mist; but in Shanghai, it was fog. In the dusk rain and haze, bustling Shanghai seemed ghostly and indistinct. Flower sellers and cigarette girls hid under shop eaves, their floral dresses the only bright colors in the blurred landscape. Watching through the car window, scenes shifted one after another, like black-and-white film reels in a cinema. As the movie played, the protagonists slipped out of the celluloid, stealing moments in the rhythm of the rain.

After dinner, Bi Qingtang took Tan Yang to the Great World amusement hall. The rain did nothing to dampen the spirit of Shanghai’s fashionable crowd; the hall was abuzz with guests coming and going. Men in suits—some stiff, some trendy—carried folded dark umbrellas, resting them on the floor like moist canes of civilization. Ladies and young misses wore expertly tailored cheongsam dresses, their high heels tapping out elegant steps, swaying gracefully. The beauty of blossoms, the tenderness of petals, the emerald of leaves, the blue of sky, the opulence of gold and silver—all stolen and stitched onto the fabrics, and washed by rain, they shone with a fresh, watery vibrancy. In the Great World, fragrant breezes and fluttering hems made it the vanguard of fashion, the most splendid cloak of the metropolis.

Bi Qingtang’s original purpose was to show Tan Yang the British acrobatics, but her interest lay elsewhere. When he asked, she murmured, “They’re dressed so scantily, it’s awkward to keep watching.” Hearing this, Bi Qingtang abandoned his plan to put his arm around her, and his gaze withdrew involuntarily from the gauzy-clad foreign dancers.

Though Tan Yang didn’t care for the acrobatics, she was fascinated by the funhouse mirrors on the south side and the peacocks and deer kept in the rooftop garden. Bi Qingtang smiled, urging her along, but she lingered, reluctant to leave. Along the way, they encountered many of his acquaintances, who exchanged greetings. Observing Tan Yang—her neat bangs, sparkling eyes, twin braids tied with emerald ribbons falling before her, her jade-green rounded-collar blouse, black pleated skirt to the knee, snow-white socks, round-toed shoes—her attire wasn’t quite a school uniform, but unmistakably carried the air of a female student. So no one could quite place her; they merely nodded and smiled politely.

Leaving the Great World and getting back into the car, Bi Qingtang glanced down. Streetlights shone through the window onto Tan Yang’s arm; her slender fingers, delicate as jade shoots, the trumpet-shaped sleeves reaching just to her forearm, exposing a section of skin, firm but not plump, like freshly picked lotus root. Bi Qingtang’s heart stirred; he cleared his throat. “Little sister, do you have any plans for the future?” Tan Yang brushed her hair from her temple, smiling brightly. “Yes, I’ve thought about it, but I can’t decide. I want to attend the teachers’ college and be a teacher like Sister Ling. But I also love the arts, and want to study architecture or something like that.” Bi Qingtang smiled faintly; he had never expected to hear anything about their mutual “future” from her lips. Promises, whether kept or not, always show sincerity; it was his duty as a man to give them.

“Can’t decide? I can read palms. How about I tell you?” Bi Qingtang earnestly proposed. Tan Yang’s curiosity was piqued. “Big brother, you know how to do that? Then please look at mine!” Seated to his left, she extended her right hand, her dark eyes shining with curiosity. Bi Qingtang glanced at her hand, then quietly took it into his own, cradling it in his lap, not letting go. Tan Yang panicked, embarrassed. “Big brother, weren’t you going to read my palm, tell me what I should do?” She tried to pull her hand away. Bi Qingtang held fast, his expression solemn as he countered, “This is your future, don’t you understand?” As he spoke, he pinched her middle fingertip; the slight sting ran from her fingertip straight to her heart, warmth rising and flooding her face with blush. Finding her hand no longer struggling, resting obediently in his palm, Bi Qingtang smiled with delight—a sweet flavor swelling in his chest, growing stronger and stronger.

They got out at the mouth of Tan Yang’s alley, walking hand in hand down the passageway. The air after rain was fresh, the surroundings quiet, children’s laughter echoed distantly, rainwater pooled in low spots, the bright moon reflected in the water, small and lovely. After a summer rain, Shanghai’s crowded and bustling streets found rare tranquility.

Turning a corner, they arrived at Tan Yang’s doorway, both still wrapped in the sweet emotion of love, when from the shadowed corner, a hunched figure stepped out.

“I knew it—after exams, no need for tutoring, so why go out gallivanting, you wretched girl! I’ll break your legs!” With a livid face, Feng Kang grabbed for Tan Yang. She was terrified; Bi Qingtang stepped forward, blocking her, speaking calmly in the manner of a junior: “Uncle Feng, please don’t be angry, let’s talk this out.” Feng Kang sneered, snarling, “Uncle Feng? You little bastard, I’m not fit for that title. Have you forgotten? When you and your father came here five years ago, what did you call me then? Doesn’t matter if you’ve forgotten, I’ll remind you!” Bi Qingtang’s eyes darted, he glanced at Tan Yang behind him, subtly shifting his position. At that moment, Feng Kang yanked his niece over, gripping her arm, pointing at Bi Qingtang and shouting, “You little bastard! My brother has only this precious girl—if you dare make a move on her, I’ll make you die worse than your father!” For a moment, Feng Kang shed his usual decrepit air, revealing a fierce, gangster-like intensity.

With that, Feng Kang dragged Tan Yang toward the house. She looked back at Bi Qingtang, unwilling. His expression was complex as he met her gaze—pain, reluctance, guilt, and helplessness mingling there. The gate slammed shut with a clang. Inside, Feng Kang continued to rage, “Bi Qingtang, as long as I’m alive, don’t you dare try anything with her!” Outside, Bi Qingtang frowned, took out a cigarette, lit it, and smoked slowly. When he finished, his face was heavy with worry as he walked away, step by step.

After the July rain, Shanghai was briefly cool, but soon the oppressive heat returned, making the endless nights unbearable.

Though Feng Kang was furious, cursing in the courtyard and threatening to break Tan Yang’s legs, he never actually laid a finger on her. At fifty, a solitary old man, childless, what could he do to his brother’s treasured niece? For days, Feng Kang didn’t leave the house, keeping the gate locked, sulking in the courtyard, smoking opium. On the fourth morning, his anger mostly spent, he entered Tan Yang’s room.

“My little ancestor, you’re not eating properly. What do you want?” Tan Yang didn’t answer, stubbornly turning away. Feng Kang paused, then anxiously pressed, “Well? You like him, don’t you?” She didn’t reply, but tears streamed down her face. Feng Kang sighed, watching her with deep regret. “Silly girl, he’s deceiving you. He’s nice to you because he has ulterior motives!” At this, Feng Kang hesitated, then Wu Ma came in with Tan Yang’s meal. Seeing her, he softened a bit. In the eyes of elders, no matter how old, children are always children, prone to mistakes and oblivious to adult matters. Some things children need not know—it’s the beginning of life’s troubles. He resolved to follow his brother’s plans for his niece’s future.

Having made up his mind, Feng Kang pushed the bowl toward Tan Yang. “Eat, don’t be stubborn. Uncle is doing this for your own good. You’re a girl—if you act willful, you’ll suffer in the end.” He wiped her tears with his sleeve, then, sighing, left the room, locking the door securely and keeping the key on his person. Soon after, he brought wooden planks and hammered them across her windows. Tan Yang banged on the window, shouting, “Uncle, what are you doing? Let me out!” Feng Kang replied helplessly, “Girl, it’s for your own good—you’ll understand one day.” He figured, childish tempers don’t last; keep her locked up for a few months and she’ll be fine.

In the sweltering summer of Shanghai, 1927, Tan Yang spent the entire season locked in her room. Heat, loneliness, boredom—these were not the hardest parts. The hardest was longing. The longer she was confined, the more she realized how deeply she missed him, how she could no longer live without him—her infatuation had become overwhelming. But as days passed, Bi Qingtang seemed to vanish; did he not think of her? Did he not know her plight? Tan Yang tried not to let her imagination run wild, but anxious thoughts surfaced despite herself. Had he already…? The alluring figure of Fang Ya kept appearing before her eyes.

Beyond longing, sorrow grew with time—at first faint, then uncontrollably intense.

One day, Feng Kang went as usual to the opium den. Tan Yang, absent-minded, lay on her bed reading, and soon drifted off. Half-asleep, she heard Wu Ma in the courtyard shouting, “Oh no, you can’t come in! How can you be so stubborn? If Master Feng returns, he’ll scold you to death!” “Please, just let me in—I’m not our Master Bi, I just want to say a few words to Miss Tan and I’ll leave!” Hearing Uncle Chen’s voice, Tan Yang rushed barefoot to the door, crying out, “Uncle Chen! Uncle Chen!” He heard her call and grew anxious, saying to Wu Ma, “This is from our Master Bi, please accept it!” Instantly, Wu Ma’s attitude changed, admiring, “My! So generous!” Uncle Chen hurried to the door, “Miss Tan, you’ve suffered! Don’t worry, Master Bi is negotiating with Uncle Feng—he’ll get you out.” He paused, then changed tone, earnestly, “My young master asked me to tell you, no matter what Uncle Feng says, you must trust him—he’s sincere.”

Hearing Tan Yang’s response from inside, Uncle Chen breathed a sigh of relief, “Miss Tan, I’ll go now—take care!” He stepped away, but turned back, speaking softly, “Young master hasn’t been well lately, smoked so much, he’s grown thin.” With that, he sighed and left. Inside, Tan Yang leaned against the doorframe, eyes blurred with tears.

They say longing is one-sided, while sadness lingers on both ends. But when two people share the same longing and know it, the taste of yearning becomes a sweet sorrow.

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